Lil 'Ponine
by Loafy-Loaf
Summary: The evolution of a girl and her name. "Now that you have purified yourselves by obeying the truth so that you have sincere love for each other, love one another deeply, from the heart." 1 Peter 1:22


She never quite understood it. Why this girl with her pretty gold hair and soft voice was treated so harshly. From what she remembered, the girl had been here since forever. So why did everyone hate her so much?

Her name was Cosette. …And "ungrateful brat" and "worthless urchin" and "filthy scum." Just to name a few.

Cosette was different. While she, Eponine, was allowed to go outside and play ball with the other children, the other girl had to stay inside and clean. This had always confused the little inn daughter.

So, like any other confused child, she asked her mother.

Mama had made angry lips before answering. Apparently, Cosette was an unwanted child. A burden to the family. Another source of money, which was needed for clothes and food and her play dolls.

When Eponine asked whether they were sisters, Mama's nostrils got very wide as she breathed in harshly. No, she had said firmly, Cosette was not part of the family, and she never will be. As a matter of fact, Cosette was scum. Trash. She will always be below them. (Which made no sense, since Cosette had always been taller than her. And how could she be scum? She was far too pretty…no, someone like that is too pretty to be thrown away and forgotten.)

Even so, Eponine did her best to ignore the girl. It was something that the whole family understood. Cosette was simply there. Barely a person. Like a phantom. And yet…Eponine was still curious. When the golden-haired girl thought no one was looking, she would stare out the window. Sometimes she would hum. Sometimes she would smile. Eponine thought she looked especially pretty when she smiled.

So one day, when Papa was out drinking and Mama was out shopping, Eponine plopped herself next to the strange girl.

"What are you doing?" she asked.

Cosette froze in surprise. She stared at her hands for a moment before replying. "Watching."

Eponine waited. Cosette looked back out the window. The inn daughter fidgeted for a bit before continuing. "Watching what?"

A pause. "…The clouds."

Eponine waited some more but got nothing else. She frowned. Cosette was hard to talk to. Maybe she only knew a few words since she hardly ever talked to anyone.

"Can I show you something?" Eponine asked, pushing the object into Cosette's hands before she even got a reply.

It was made out of wood, with a pretty little carved face. It was wearing a nice little flower dress and had threads of thin yellow string for hair.

"She's my favorite doll," Eponine proclaimed proudly.

Cosette quietly looked at the toy before glancing up, finally giving the innkeeper's daughter a view of her light blue eyes. "…She is very pretty."

Eponine smiled. "She looks a bit like you."

The young girl looked down once again, her cheeks pink. The corners of her mouth curved upwards shyly, which only made Eponine's grin grow wider. Eventually, Cosette moved the doll back towards the other girl to return it. Eponine pushed it back towards her. "That's alright. You can play with her for a bit, if you want."

Cosette's mouth turned into a real smile this time. (And it was true; she did look prettier smiling.) "Thank you…Eponine."

"You're welcome. And you should call me 'Ponine. All my friends do."

Cosette's tired eyes twinkled. "Thank you, 'Ponine."

It was a warm moment that felt like being wrapped in a fuzzy wool blanket on a cold day, sitting in front of a pretty, crackling fire. Eponine didn't understand why the girl was treated differently, but one thing was certain: Cosette was different. She was different from the mean boys and giggling girls and hovering parents. Maybe now they could even be best frie-

"What do you think you're doing!?" a shrill voice screeched.

The two children jumped in surprise. The doll fell to the floor with a loud clatter. A swift hand reached over and grabbed a handful of golden locks, forcing Cosette onto her feet and invoking a painful yelp.

"Tryin' to go off and steal my darling's dollies, eh? As if I don't get enough trouble from your pathetic mother as it is! Now you listen here, you insolent, ungrateful little-"

"Mama, Mama!" Eponine screamed frantically, quickly getting up on her own feet, "I was only showing her! She didn't steal anything!"

Her mother's grip slackened, but the girl was not released. Eyes narrowed. "She didn't?"

The daughter shook her head vigorously, her eyes glued on the girl. Cosette's eyes were shining with unshed tears, and her hands were up near her head, trying to dull the pain. Other than her earlier cry of agony, she made no attempt to voice her protest.

Eventually, Mama's breathing relaxed, and she freed her.

"Go to your room. Now." Cosette stood there, hot tears streaming silently down her cheeks. She looked shocked (…though Eponine couldn't tell if it was because of being suddenly yanked or suddenly released). Her mother grew frustrated, frighteningly fast.

"Go!" The small girl quickly fled.

Mama turned back around, making her daughter flinch. She was afraid the anger would be redirected at her now. But instead of yelling, Mama placed a caring hand on Eponine's shoulder and sat her back down.

And on that cloudy day, Eponine was told why Cosette was different. She had a worthless mother who had been left by her deadbeat father. The mother couldn't afford the time and money to care for Cosette, so out of the goodness of their hearts, the Thénardier family took her in. But family was family, which meant Cosette would grow up to be just as pathetic as her parents.

Her mother made it clear that she was to steer clear from her.

When Mama finally left to make supper, Eponine got off the bench and picked up her doll. Perhaps it was for the best. Making a new friend was not worth the disappointment of her Mama and Papa. Cosette was pretty. She could easily make more friends. Even if everything her mother had said was true.

Despite her thoughts, Eponine absentmindedly stroked the hair of her doll…as if to comfort her.

(On that day, Cosette called her 'Ponine for the first and last time.)

* * *

She weaved through the crowd of people, managing to be swift without attracting any unwanted attention. She kept her head down, letting her face hide beneath the shadows of her hood.

Her face may not look much different from any of the other homeless teenagers out on the streets…but one can never be too careful.

Before long, her shack of a house came into view. Glancing around to make sure no angry shopkeepers were behind her heel, she quickly entered.

"Eponine, what took you so long?"

The young girl took off her hood, scowling at the shrill voice that had been yelling at her for the past four years. Ever since they lost the inn to her father's gambling ways.

"I didn't get to steal much before they caught me," Eponine explained, taking out the small apple from under her cloak.

Her mother, with her tangled hair and pasty complexion, deepened her wrinkles with a frown. "You know I can't eat apples! They are far too tart! Not to mention horrible for my teeth!" She sighed dramatically before dismissing her with a wave of her hand. "I suppose you or your brother can have that for supper tonight."

Eponine resisted the urge to throw the fruit at her face. You would think that near-starvation would trump personal tastes! You can go and sugarcoat it; say that the mother was refusing food to feed her children first. But the teenager knew better. That…that…witch didn't give a horse's backside for either of them. She just simply detested apples.

Turning her back on Madame Thénardier, she made her way to the small bed in the corner. A small toddler was sleeping on the dirty sheets, sucking his thumb. Eponine smiled at Gavroche, her younger brother and only saving grace in this backstabbing hellhole of a city. She brushed back a few locks of his messy blonde hair and placed the apple on the rickety table next to him. He would probably be hungry after his nap.

Eponine sighed and lifted her weary body towards her own dirty pile of sheets. She stole a glance at her mother. The old woman was mumbling darkly as she washed their rags with even dirtier water. Good. Her attention should be occupied for a while.

As quietly as possible, the young girl pried out a floorboard, revealing a small wooden box hidden in the crevices. The box contained sentimental trinkets, things she had salvaged from the inn before it was taken. She had hidden them away so that her father couldn't take them and sell them for a pocketful of change.

Eponine cradled it to her chest before flipping the lid. And she stared.

It was gone.

She gaped in disbelief before glaring at her mother. There was only one explanation.

"Where is she?" she asked in a quiet, low voice. Nevertheless, it was enough to get her attention.

"Where's what?" Madame Thénardier questioned, her piercing tone contrasting sharply with hers.

"Where _is_ she?" she repeated, louder this time. She tilted the box in her hands, showing her the relative emptiness inside. Her old journal entries and favorite quill were still in the box, but there was an empty space where her most prized possession should have been.

The matriarch's eyebrows twitched in recognition. "Ah, you mean that old, dirty doll? I gave it to your father to sell. Not that it was worth much."

Eponine gritted her teeth, restraining herself from lashing out. Launching herself at the woman would only alert the authorities. "How…dare you?" she growled, shaking with rage, "It was not your's to sell!"

"You ungrateful child! Everything in this hovel is mine to sell!"

"You had no right!"

"I have every right! Don't you dare forget who it was that bought you that doll in the first place!"

The two glared at each other, their chests heaving. Eventually, Eponine broke eye contact by covering her face with a hand, hot tears sliding down her cheeks.

There was a moment of tense, awkward silence before any of the room's occupants made a move. In a moment of rare motherly instinct, Madame Thénardier placed an awkward hand on her shoulder. "Now, now, 'Ponine. You are much too old to be playing with dolls anyway."

Tensing at the foreign touch, Eponine swatted the hand off her shoulder. "Don't call me that."

"What?" her mother asked for the second time that night.

"Don't call me 'Ponine," she demanded, her eyes steely cold despite the tears. Deciding that leaving the girl alone would be the best course of action for now, Madame Thénardier quietly returned to the laundry.

(That day was the day she lost her childhood friend, her childhood nickname, and the last shreds of her childhood innocence.)

* * *

She was a grown woman now. Still young, but with the street smarts that rivaled the oldest beggar. Gavroche grew up to be quite the little street urchin as well, finding new ways to get under her skin without getting caught. A troublemaker, but with a good head on his shoulders. And harmless, for the most part. Her parents, on the other hand, were as bigoted as ever.

…But family was family. And in this dog-eat-dog world, blood was the only thing that was absolutely certain. "Friends" were occasional allies at best and backstabbing fiends at worst.

She kept her head down, plowing through the crowds of the impoverished. Ignoring the yells of protest from those unfortunate enough to get in her way, she went through the plan.

Create a distraction. Buy time so her parents can steal everything that wasn't nailed down. Then run. Use the alleyways to lose them. Don't look back.

Distract. Run. Don't look back.

Distract. Run. Don't look back.

Distract. Run.

"Don't look back!"

A strong, confident voice filled the busy courtyard. In an area brimming with filth of every kind, it stood out easily.

Usually, nothing could be said to stop her from her goal. Usually, she kept a one-track mind. Usually, she always, always stuck with the plan. Plans were carefully thought out. Plans were never spontaneous. Plans kept you alive.

…But there was something about that voice. A voice that commanded attention, that rang with a strong character. Something that was hard to come by these days.

So, just this once, she looked back.

It was a man. No…a boy. Perhaps around her age. He was standing on a wide table, using it as a makeshift stage. His clothes were neat, which suggested that he most likely wasn't homeless. In another life, she would have admired him for his handsome looks. She crossed her arms and smirked before leaning against a wall. This should be amusing.

"Don't look back." he repeated, his posture strong, his gaze searching. Many were crowded around him, fascinated by how he exuded authority without brandishing a firearm. "Our future is on the line! Because of the bigots, the rich, the ignorant soldiers, half of France is crawling through the muck. This country used to be a beautiful nation! But now…just look at us! (She snorted. Us? Those cuff links say otherwise, you delusional pretty boy.) Our sisters are selling themselves to feed our nephews. Our brothers break their backs for a handful of tin. Our mothers and fathers lay dead in the road, being collected by carts, and thrown to the mutts! (She briefly imagined the same fate for her own parents. Oh, if only…) So don't look back! Don't think about the impossibilities! Fight for your nation! Fight for your children! We've hit rock bottom, now! From here, we can only go up!"

She shook her head. The rebellion leaders around here were usually students who lasted for less than a clock tick. To those rich, young boys, this was all just some sort of game. Besides, what could they, the poor, do? Gum them to death? The ones on top of the world had the money, the influence, the weapons. With enough persuasion, they could get a man to shoot his own brother. They couldn't do anything.

Why bother?

Eponine didn't realize she had spoken aloud until the man and half the crowd turned towards her.

...Well…she had already come this far. "Why bother?" she repeated, louder this time, "It's not like we can do anything."

The public speaker straightened, his eyes alight with an unreadable spark. "Every man and woman makes a difference. If enough people cry out, the Lord will hear and answer."

The female thief scoffed. The notion that every person was unique was a ridiculous fairytale fed to children by their mothers to make them feel better about themselves. Because honestly, how were you different from any other poor soul out in these foul streets? She said so to the whole crowd, hoping to get a rise from the delusional daydreamer on the stage.

But he remained calm. "Then what do you suggest that we do? Endure this torture forevermore? Watch as our neighbors, our parents, our children get murdered in front of us? Sit in silence, and wait for our saving grace?"

At his words, a heat started to grow in her chest. Emotions that she had kept bottled in for years started to resurface. How dare he? How _dare_ he? Acting as if he knew the heartbreak of living amongst the trash, the cold, and the fear!

"Scrape by!" she exclaimed, somewhat surprised by the volume of her voice, "Work to your bones to make ends meet! Keep your so-called loved ones close! At least this way, you'll have the world's smallest chance of living and seeing the next day! Why throw it away on a half-baked revolution doomed to damnation from the start!?" Her voice cracked mid-rant, and she could feel a pressure building behind her eyes; but she still held herself high, determined to hold her composure.

The man stayed silent for a few heartbeats. "…That is not living. That is surviving." In just seven words, he had blown away her passionate rant. In any other case, she would have surged forward to clock him in the jaw for even daring to make her feel inferior. But suddenly, she felt too tired to even care.

"…Besides," he continued, "would you want your children to live the life you're leading now?"

If it was one thing Eponine knew, it was this: she would die before she brought an innocent child into this hellish world. But she didn't bother saying so. Instead, she gave him one last withering look before leaving the crowd, ducking into an alleyway.

As her eyes burned with rare tears, Eponine scoffed at herself. Ridiculous. Why waste precious time on a man like that? She was in the middle of a heist. Now, what was the plan again?

 _Distract. Run. Don't look back._

 _Distract. Run. Don't look back._

 _ **Distract-**_

"Wait!"

For the second time that day, Eponine turned back around. It was that rebellion leader again.

"What do you want?" she asked warily, crossing her arms in front of her. The man stopped before her, panting slightly. He offered her a warm grin. "Your words. You spoke with such passion. Do you truly believe in what you say?"

She ignored the inviting smile and tightened her crossed arms. "What of it?"

The man's eyes twinkled. "If you would let me, I would love to prove you wrong."

 ** _Run-_**

Eponine uncrossed her arms and shot him an uninterested frown. "I would rather n-"

"Come with me," he insisted, taking her wrist and pulling her towards God knows where.

"What are you-"

"Trust me," he winked.

She shouldn't. She really shouldn't…

 ** _Don't look back._**

"Fine," she muttered.

He smiled triumphantly before cocking his head to the side. "By the way, what is your name?"

She paused. She never gave away her name. If people knew her true identity, she could be traced. And Gavroche could get hurt. Names were dangerous. …But… "…Eponine," she answered stiffly.

A smirk. "A pleasure, Miss 'Ponine. My name is Marius."

Ignoring her glare, Marius pulled her along the alleyway and into a whole new world.

(The day she met Marius marked the first time she had ever botched a plan. And the first time she had been called 'Ponine in half a decade.)

* * *

It was strange. How this sight made her laugh in joy and her chest tighten in pain, at the same time.

"You are a true friend, Eponine!" Marius laughed, his jovial voice carrying down the dark streets. Eponine smiled, playing the part of the ever-helpful comrade. He was skipping, his feet as light as clouds. This is the happiest she had ever seen him. Happier than when they gained a whole new group of recruits for their cause. Happier than when they found an extra supply of weapons. …Happier than the first time they met.

Marius grabbed her hands, twirling her in a circle while humming some catchy tune. She couldn't help but laugh at his silly actions, forgetting for a moment just why he was so elated.

His eyes were brighter than the stars. His smile as wide as his face would allow. As he spoke, one would expect him to burst into gleeful laughter at any moment.

Eventually, they stopped.

As Eponine stared past the gates to the small residence, her heart dropped down to her stomach. Inside was a woman with silky, golden hair. A woman with eyes as blue as a clear sky. With everything Eponine wished she had.

"Well?" Marius asked, "Is this the place?"

The young woman paused. This was it. The last chance to back out. One last chance.

But then he turned to her, with his expectant eyes and a smile that brightened her world.

"…Yes…she's waiting here."

And though she should have expected it, Eponine could not help but jump in surprise when he surged forward to capture her in a tight embrace.

"Thank you 'Ponine. Thank you so much."

(Never before had her name caused her such pain...like a dagger twisting itself into her chest. For, despite being in his arms, she could feel him fade into unreachable distances.)

* * *

Noise. Screams and gun shots and fire filled her senses, surrounding her, cornering her. Why was she here? How could she make it out of the noise? And yet, smothered in the chaos, a sight caught her attention from the corner of her eye. A soldier. A gun. And Marius.

Eponine could hear Gavroche's cries of warning. But that didn't matter. She had to save him. Now.

"NO!"

A shot, louder than the rest. And suddenly, silence.

"…EPONINE!"

* * *

When she opened her eyes, she was met with a cloudy sky. A colorless world. Faces and movement and gray. First came the confusion: Where was she? …Why was she here? Then, as a familiar face loomed over her, she remembered. The barricade. The soldiers. The blood. Marius.

She could feel herself slipping away. Knew that she didn't have much time. Not here, at least. But nevertheless, she felt calm. Finally, she could stop worrying about her next meal. She would no longer have to hide her face out on the streets. Or dodge angry shopkeepers. Or men with wandering hands.

Finally.

To know that all her earthly burdens will soon be lifted from her shoulders made her want to laugh in relief, but she refrained. She knew it was terribly selfish of her to feel this way, but she couldn't help it.

Droplets were falling on her face. Not all of them came from the sky.

Cradling her friend's face with a hand, she smiled. Thank goodness she made it in time. He had so much to live for. With Cosette. The love of his life. Together, they would create a beautiful family and a bright future. She felt a bit of regret knowing that she wouldn't be there to support him through it all, but that was fine. Because he was fine. Safe. And very much alive.

He was speaking, she realized. His voice was distant, but she still had enough strength to listen. He assured her, even though they knew no amount of bandages would staunch the bleeding. He pleaded towards the sky, even though the falling rain would never answer. She squeezed his hand, as if to assure him that it will be all right. His presence, his being here, was more than enough.

A few clouds parted, shining down a ray of sunlight. Suddenly, much to her delight, the colors came back. And she swore right then and there that the world was at its most beautiful. It had always been, she realized, despite all the jagged edges and harsh truth; one just needed to take the time to see it.

It was a pity she didn't have much time left.

"…'Ponine," a desperate voice gasped, holding all the emotions that were left unsaid. It was pleading. A confession. But mostly, a goodbye.

She stared in his hazel orbs, directing all of the joy and thanks and love she had felt throughout their friendship into a gaze. Smiling one last time, her eyes fluttered close.

…And she slept.

(With all the ways to leave this world, she felt rather lucky. With the cleansing rain kissing her face, the pressure of a friend's hand against her's…and her name spoken like a fitting end to a song.)

* * *

The first thing she felt was the soft cushion underneath her head, along with thick wool underneath her fingers and tucked under her chin. When she opened her eyes, she found herself staring at the beams of the wooden ceiling, its shadows forming from the warm glow to her left. Turning her head, her eyes widened.

It was her old room. From back at the inn.

She had nothing but fond memories of this place. Hours had been spent in this room, playing with dolls and reading. It was her sanctuary. Even the smell of burning candles and old wood was the same.

…Though none of this made sense, considering the new owner had taken their inn and turned it into a brothel. The last time she had checked, her room was always in demand for the more spendy drunkards and their whores.

"I trust you've had a decent rest, my child?" a voice asked from behind her.

Sitting up frantically, Eponine whipped her body around. A man, older than she, though not by much, was casually sitting on her favorite chair. "Who are you?" she ordered as she inched farther away. Though his posture was unthreatening, she couldn't help but feel instantly on edge near the stranger. Old habits tended to die hard.

The man smiled warmly. "My name is Peter." After holding her blank stare for a few more seconds, he tilted his head and asked, "Do you feel better? Now that you have rested?"

"…I…I suppose," she answer hesitantly, a million questions lying on the tip of her tongue, though she had no idea where to start.

"Good," Peter said cheerfully, his eyes crinkling with fondness. "Now, Eponine. Do you know why you are here?"

The young woman narrowed her eyes. She was certain that she had never met this man before in her life, and yet he knew her name. Pushing aside her suspicion for now, Eponine stared at her blanket and tried to focus on the question. "Well…I remember the barricade. There were soldiers…and gunshots…oh, and Marius!" She looked up to meet his twinkling eyes. "I…there was a soldier…and…I think I was shot…" Eponine reflexively put a hand to her abdomen but was left surprised when she didn't feel the rough material of bandages or the pang of pain from a healing wound.

"Go on," he encouraged.

"l…I remember being on the ground and staring into Marius's eyes…but after that…" Suddenly, the memory came to her. "…I died." She looked around, at the burning candle on the table, at the shelf of old playthings, at the blanket draped across her lap: this certainly felt _real_. Eponine looked at her hands, turning them and flexing her fingers. She felt rather…well… _alive_.

Peter, who had been silently watching her reaction, nodded. "Yes, you are correct. You, Miss Eponine Thénardier, are dead."

She blinked. So…this was the afterlife? …It didn't feel like a circle of hell. But would heaven really look this…simple? Eponine stared at her door. Was there another world waiting for her if she left this room?

"You are at a crossroads," Peter continued, "You have two choices."

She regarded him with an upraised eyebrow. "If you must ask, yes, I would much rather divine enlightenment over eternal damnation."

The man chuckled. "You've kept your sense of humor. I'm glad." Peter stood and sat himself next to her, taking her hands in his. Despite her usual wariness towards strangers, she felt herself relaxing under his soft gaze and gentle touch. "Eponine…you have been so selfless throughout this trying time. You are truly a brave woman."

"I…thank you…?"

"There is no need to be embarrassed," he assured, "Due to your noble actions, you have earned yourself a second chance."

"A…second chance?" Normally, Eponine would have scolded herself for hesitating and gaping like a fish, but considering the circumstances, she let the behavior slide.

"You have the choice of joining me into our Lord's kingdom. And in doing so, freeing yourself from all that pained you in the mortal world."

Her breath hitched.

And then it hit her.

No more hunger. No more injustice. No more pain.

Suddenly, Eponine's eyes filled with tears as she released a shaking gasp. A joy that had always felt so out of reach filled her with a warmth that almost overwhelmed her. She covered her mouth and shut her eyes, letting hot tears flow freely down her face. And she laughed. Full, loud, deep-from-the-diaphragm noises of pure happiness. God, when was the last time she laughed and meant it?

"Be still, my child" Peter whispered.

Then, just as suddenly, the tears and laugher stopped. Eponine blinked. She took a deep breath and chuckled lowly as she rubbed her eyes with the palms of her hands. "That was certainly…an experience," she breathed, grinning widely without embarrassment.

Peter's expression mirrored her's. "I always find the first reaction to be so heart-warming. Everyone reacts differently, you know. Some accept it with the calmest of acceptance. Others could have danced to the moon and back, and believe me, they certainly tried!"

Eponine giggled, a product of the residual euphoria still in her system.

"But that aside, I have yet to tell you your second option."

She was certain nothing in the world could ever come close to the warmth from seconds prior, but she listened intently nevertheless.

"Eponine," Peter continued, "You…have a chance to start over. To be reborn as a child of earth once more. To live a better life, a life you deserve."

As he uttered those words, a life unraveled itself in her mind's eyes. She could see it. The struggles. The joys. The lackluster days. The eye-opening nights. The anger. Sadness. Fear. She saw family. And friends.

And, Dear God, she saw love.

Painfully beautiful love. Love that could bring people to their knees or lift them up to the clouds. Crippling, adoring, confused, determined, vital love. And, oh God, it hurt, how it hurt, but that hurt showed how alive you were. To feel is to live.

And even though she was given the choice to a limitless love from the Lord, she knew which path she would take. Life on earth was painful, yes, but she would continue to stumble on as tears ran down her face. Love on earth is love for God, and oh, how she wanted to see the world again. Through eyes that loved with a wonder that wasn't quashed by the ugliness of man. She wanted a second chance.

Eponine turned to look at Peter, but all he did was nod. "Very well." He stood and gestured towards the door.

Without a word, she slid out of her warm, safe bed and grabbed the knob of the heavyset door. Steeling her nerves (it will hurt, but it's worth it, there is so much to live for, so much to see, so much to feel), Eponine turned the knob and stepped into a blinding light.

"…Until we meet again…Little 'Ponine."

(At this point, she mused, she was growing rather fond of that little nickname.)

* * *

Light. Noise. Air. Pain.

Eponine screamed.

Every breath that she sucked in was released in a loud cry.

To be brought into this world, to be given life and the responsibilities that come with it, it hurt, it hurt, it _hurt_.

She couldn't see, at least not well. The noises that she could hear were unfamiliar murmurs, raising her panic. She couldn't speak. She could only scream.

Eventually, though she had no way of telling when, she was nestled between a pair of arms. Soft, warm arms. At some point, she had stopped screaming. She couldn't remember when. But once she was _warm, safe, content,_ she cracked open her eyes.

Though she couldn't see for who knew how long, her vision sharpened suddenly.

She was being held. By a woman _(warm, safe, familiar, good)_. She knew this woman. Her scent was familiar. Her voice was familiar. Her heartbeat. She heard this heartbeat before. She knew this heartbeat. It was the same heart that pumped along with her's for months.

Eponine blinked slowly. _"…Cosette…?"_

Blonde hair. Warm, cerulean eyes. A beautiful, cooing voice. A tired face. A warmth that hasn't faltered over the tough years. A glowing love that was almost tangible.

 _"God must have a plan for us, after all,"_ Eponine thought as she stared at her new mother with large, curious eyes.

"She is so beautiful, Marius," Cosette whispered, unable to tear her eyes away from the child she had waited and cared for for what seemed like endless months.

"Just like her mother," an equally awed voice answered, "…though I do believe she has my eyes."

Eponine did her best to focus on the figure hovering to the right.

Marius.

Had she had the ability, she would have smiled at him, but instead, she contented herself with soaking in his image instead.

He, like Cosette, aged well. A far more mature man, though she could detect the hint of laughter lines. Lines which grew more prominent with the wide grin on his face. He would make a fine father.

"Hello there, little one," he greeted, a permanent look of love in his eyes, "Welcome to the family. I hope you like your name, Eponine Pontmercy. It belonged to a wonderful friend of mine, God bless her soul. I have no doubt that she is looking down on us with the brightest smile on her face right now."

Eponine wished she had the ability to roll her eyes. Ever the sap, that man.

She felt a pressure on her forehead, and it took her a moment to realize that she had been kissed on the forehead.

"We love you, little 'Ponine," her father whispered, "Now and forever."

Eponine blinked as her vision slowly clouded over once more. Bit by bit, she could feel the memories of her past life fall away to transition her from a Thénardier to a Pontemercy. From one life to the next.

But before she shed her old life for her newborn role, a familiar voice spoke from within her.

 _"Now that you have purified yourselves by obeying the truth so that you have sincere love for each other, love one another deeply, from the heart."_

And with that parting advice, she understood.

* * *

A/N: If you leave a review, you're my favorite.


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